


Interlude VI

by hoc_voluerunt



Series: SPQR [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoc_voluerunt/pseuds/hoc_voluerunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celatus confronts Mykale with something to prove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude VI

            It was early at night, but so close to winter, the night fell swiftly. Only the moon, then, lit the way, as Celatus marched to Mykale’s house and pushed through her doorway with only a cursory knock, stepping uninvited into the low, warm light.

            “You lied.”

            Mykale looked up at him with pursed lips and a glare of bronze from her seat behind the counter. She didn’t bother to question his intrusion. “I do not lie.”

            “Then how do you explain this?”

            From his side, Celatus drew up his right hand and opened his fist, holding out his palm flat in the space between them. Even in that dim, shadowed space — with herbs and charms hanging from the ceiling and charts stacked against the walls to shroud the candlelight — the little, globular pearl in his hand glimmered with its pale, unearthly light. Mykale’s eyes went wide at the sight, but when she looked up again at Celatus, her mouth was still in its irritable moue.

            “Where did you get this?”

            “It doesn’t matter where,” Celatus seethed, “it matters that Mercurialis got it before me — just as you predicted would _not_ happen!” His fingers clenched shut against the pearl.

            “Did she?” Mykale asked, and Celatus all but snarled.

            “ _How otherwise would you explain my obtaining it from one of her agents?_ _”_ he said, through gritted teeth.

            “Did _Mercurialis herself_ get her hands on it?” Mykale insisted. Celatus opened his mouth to cut her argument down — and then stopped. His face, and then his shoulders, fell, and he sank onto the stool opposite her.

            “No,” he said softly. “She would have used her agents to find it, collect and re-sell it. She never wanted it for herself. Probably never laid eyes on it...”

            Mykale smiled sadly at him. “I am sorry that my words failed you like this,” she soothed, “but you yourself know that prophecy can be a fickle science.” Her eyes took on a knowing glint. “I believe that’s why you so rarely consult it in your work. It is known that too often, the gods’ words only make sense after fate has run its course.”

            Celatus was staring down at the pearl in his hand, as if all that he had staked his wealth and life on had disappeared into the sea. Mykale watched him with increasing concern in her brow.

            “Does Piso know you have this?”

            “No,” Celatus answered, a flat and instinctive monotone. Her mouth dropped open a fraction.

            “Celatus, you have to tell him —”

            “ _No,_ _”_ Celatus repeated, with feeling this time. He tore his gaze from the pearl to look at her. “Why should I worry him? One normal case is enough, he is meant to be _resting, healing._ He cannot heal if he is needlessly worried about my well-being.”

            “You do _remember,_ _”_ Mykale scowled, to the best of her ability, “that the last time she tried to get to you, she did it through him? The last time she attacked you directly, he ended up fighting for his life, a _slave_ _—”_

            “Yes thank you, oh augur, I remember perfectly well,” Celatus spat. “However, Mercurialis is an intelligent and resourceful criminal: I doubt that she will stoop to using the same tactic twice.”

            Mykale’s mouth pursed further, now nearing a snarl. “Celatus, he could be in danger,” she said, her voice shaking but implacable. _“_ _You_ are probably in danger. He would want to know.”

            “He doesn’t need to be bothered with something so trivial —”

            “This is _not_ trivial! She is _dangerous,_ Celatus, how can you tell yourself you love him and then convince yourself of this _conceit_ _—”_

            “It’s for his own good!” Celatus shouted. “He needs to _rest,_ he needs to heal from the last time he saved my life, I’d say it’s high time I returned the favour!”

            Mykale stared at him, angry and incapable of doing anything, she could tell, to change his mind.

            “You have to tell him,” was all she could say, a repetition, but an important one. “If you insist on this course of action, you _must_ tell him.”

            Celatus stood, and leaned over the counter to snarl in her face: “It is not up to you what I _must do._ _”_

            With which he ended, spun on his feet, and left the shop in sleek whirl of toga and a slammed door.

 

            Mykale’s cat wound about her ankles, and jumped into her lap. Its smooth, black forehead bumped into her hand, and then her chin; but though she kissed behind its ear and raised her hands to scratch its cheeks and back, its presence alone was little comfort against her silent tears.


End file.
